


Indirect

by KIBITZER



Category: Umineko no Naku Koro ni | When the Seagulls Cry
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-27
Updated: 2019-03-27
Packaged: 2019-12-25 09:46:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18258794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KIBITZER/pseuds/KIBITZER
Summary: It's the after-party and Chiester 00 doesn't know what to do with her hands.





	Indirect

**Author's Note:**

> Or: Chiester 00 is a big gay and Gert is her normal weird self

It's the after-party and Chiester 00 doesn't know what to do with her hands. She resigns to clasp them behind her back, rigid as if standing guard as she sinks into the shadows cast by the heavy drapes of the curtains. Her back is to the wall, but there's nothing casual here; she doesn't lean against it, doesn't take her weight off her center at all. She's close to a corner; the wall is on her right, limiting ambushes from her blind spot.

Lord Battler’s game is concluded. It's the after-party and he's invited everyone—everyone, even including people as tangential as the three soldiers from the Chiester Corps. 00 has brought her pair, as per the invitation—and immediately lost them, of course. No doubt Chiester 410 is causing mayhem somewhere in this grand hall; and Chiester 45, on her own, would be powerless to stop her.

But Chiester 00 has made a promise. She promised they were off duty. That they should have fun.

So 00 stays where she is, observing the festivities impassively. Tries to remember the last time she was invited to a casual party. Can't.

Of course she can't.

She sighs and tries to relax her posture. Tries to unwind the tight coil of her muscles. It's difficult to feel at rest here, in a room full of people she doesn't quite know. 00 doesn't trust crowds anymore.

Luckily, she's got kind of an aura here. Here where people don't quite know of her, where she's an ally rather than an opponent, she can ward people off with her presence alone. She knows she has a severe air about her. It's on purpose. Especially now, during a party, people are much more interested in enjoying themselves than trying to brave her icy front.

Which is what makes it so surprising when someone comes up to stand next to her.

Clad in the official navy blue of the Great Court, Senior Aide Gertrude is all polish and brass, her uniform pristine as can be. She leans against the wall to 00’s left. She doesn't say anything.

For a long moment, 00 doesn't say anything either. She observes.

The two of them met only briefly before, but 00 is well familiar with the reputations of the Eiserne Jungfrau’s prominent members. Senior Aide Gertrude stands out as one of the best in recent times; perhaps the best since the great Archbishop Dlanor A. Knox herself. She is diligent and clever and has a level of insight usually reserved for the highest Inquisitors. 00 may not know her personally, but her record and reputation speak for themselves. 

But right now, she seems distracted. On edge, even. She's got a cup of punch in her hands and she looks like she might drop it.

But she doesn't say anything. She just stands there. And after a while, she closes her eyes.

Finally, 00 can take no more. She clears her throat, and Senior Aide Gertrude cracks one of her eyes back open.

“Senior Aide,” Chiester 00 says. “Good evening.”

Senior Aide Gertrude nods. Runs her fingers over one another around her cup. She glances at 00, then looks away. “Hello.”

“It's good to see you again,” 00 says. “Is there anything I can help you with?”

Senior Aide Gertrude takes a slow sip of her punch. It's like she's contemplating whether the question is worth answering. But somehow it doesn't feel mean—she's coming off neutral.

Of course, that's even weirder to 00, who's more used to mean.

Finally, Senior Aide Gertrude says, “It’s quiet.”

“Pardon?”

“By you.”

It's barely a fragment of a sentence, but somehow 00 connects the dots. “Taking a break from the party?” she assumes, and Senior Aide Gertrude swirls her drink and nods.

She doesn't look particularly tired or distressed, just distracted and fidgety. Her face is neutral.

They lapse back into silence. 00 is watching her watch the room. She's struck by how natural this rest is on Senior Aide Gertrude—she's tall and gangly, basically all wire and limb, but her poise is fluid, so natural it seems difficult to imagine her tense at all.

Of course, she notices that she's being watched. But even as she looks over and meets 00’s stare levelly, she doesn't say anything.

“This was such a long game,” Chiester 00 says, inclining her head towards the festivities. “You and your squad were exemplary.”

Senior Aide Gertrude nips at her drink. “You too,” she says. Her voice is so soft here, low and warm like honey. She sounds nothing like the authoritative snap of Court language.

Senior Aide Gertrude glances over again. “We’re off duty,” she comments.

Chiester 00 might have smiled, but she doesn't quite manage to. “Indeed. But I am not one to whom relaxation comes easy. If you prefer, you may consider me on standby, Senior Aide.”

The correction is velvet-soft: “Gertrude.”

00 nods once.

Gertrude holds out her cup. “Punch?” she offers.

A smile is tugging on 00’s lips, faintly. “No thanks,” she says. “I don't partake.”

“Maybe for the better—it's likely Lady Lambdadelta slipped some shady ingredients in when no one was looking,” Gertrude says—the most 00’s ever heard her say, excluding her on-duty Court language. She flashes a lazy smile 00’s way, a languid thing that could melt any flustered schoolgirl heart. “Kidding.”

00 smiles politely, unsure of whether she's permitted to laugh at a joke that comes at the expense of a Great Witch.

“How is the rest of your party?” 00 asks instead, since she can't see Archbishop Dlanor or Aide Cornelia from here.

“Well,” Gertrude says simply. “Yours?”

One of 00’s ears flicks. “They're also well.” She pauses, exhales. “I'm afraid I am a poor conversationalist. Forgive my recalcitrance.”

“All right. It's nice, though.”

“Pardon?”

“To talk to you.”

“Ah? I don't get that very often.”

Gertrude sips her drink and shrugs. She looks more composed now; her fingers are still. She says: “Wanna go out?”

“Come again?”

“The roses are lovely.”

“Oh—ah, yes—you know what—let’s.”

Even movement doesn't shake the rigor from 00’s posture as she steps out from the curtains’ shadow. Muscle memory demands she offer her left arm, like a guard escorting a young noble lady, and Gertrude looks impenetrably bemused. It's only half a heartbeat though—00 feels pretty mortified pretty quickly and makes to reset her posture.

Nonchalant as ever, Gertrude takes the offered arm before 00 can withdraw. Her expression doesn't shift an inch. But like before, it's not mean; it's merely neutral. She starts walking, and 00 follows—her arm brightwarm where it's linked with Gertrude’s.

They leave the banquet hall and pass through the lavish doors of the mansion, exiting into a fresh autumn night. Everything here is velvet; the sky is softly dark, and even the air feels smooth around them. The eve of the party has been carefully designed, inside and out; even the weather has been decorated.

Gertrude is right: the roses are lovely. Endless splendor of wine red and polished gold, like the blood spilled so gladly over those cursed ingots so many times—beautiful in its own right. The garden is enormous, with roses too plentiful to count, too many to appreciate each individual.

They walk in silence through the garden, admiring the roses and the velveteen night. Soon, the noise of the party is but a hazy memory compared to the comfort of Gertrude’s presence at her side, her body warmth in the fresh air.

00 blinks a few times, trying to clear her head. Gertrude is still carrying her punch in her free hand; 00 feels like she's the one who's been drinking it.

“This kind of place,” she says vaguely—“I wouldn't be surprised to find my own subordinate skulking around some secluded bush with company.”

“Which one?”

“410, absolutely. And that eldest Sister of Purgatory. Wouldn't bat an eye.”

“Would you stop her?”

That gives 00 pause.

“No,” she says. “That isn't what I meant. It's her prerogative. She just thinks herself far stealthier than she is.”

Gertrude offers a delicate chuckle that embeds itself somewhere between 00’s ribs. “But you don't partake?” she guesses, sipping her drink.

“It's complicated,” 00 says. “When we could die any day. Any mission could be my last. It would be irresponsible of me. That's how I feel. 410 is her own person. My choices aren't relevant to hers. I don't disparage her for making a different one. But for myself—I've already tread too close.”

She flicks her most damaged ear. Gertrude follows the movement with her eyes, then settles her gaze back on 00’s face. “But what about living until then?” she asks.

00 doesn't understand what Gertrude means. She looks askance, insecure, and delays her response. Like suddenly the roses were the most interesting thing in the realm. Finally, she relents: “I'm afraid I don't understand.”

Gertrude looks at her pensively. “You seem to be denying yourself things, Chiester 00, solely because someday you're going to die. Is there not a point to indulging in life while you still have it? We are all going to die. How sad it would be for us to stop living because of it.”

When she's speaking at such length, Gertrude’s voice is surprisingly melodious. It's a sparsely used instrument, but it's perfectly tuned—and it forms a sound Chiester 00 could listen to forever.

She shakes her head. “It's different.”

“Is it?”

“Well—maybe not for you, Senior Aide, but—for civilians it's different.”

“You're lonely,” Gertrude says.

It cuts right to the core. Even in just two words—even in such short terms—even with that, Gertrude cuts to the chase and nails the very center of 00’s being.

“I…”

Is there a use denying it? Gertrude’s eyes are sharp. She's got insight and she knows how to read people’s innermost hearts. She will know if 00 lies, even if she is tactful enough to not say anything.

Knowing that, 00 glances away and says, “Perhaps. Though I should not be.”

“Why?”

“I am a member of the Chiester Sisters Imperial Guard,” 00 says, and she straightens a bit further just saying the name. “I am one of many. I am never truly alone. My sisters-in-arms are in the millions—some 00s like myself, even. I am not unique. How could a mass-produced being be lonely?”

“You are unique,” Gertrude says, and disregards the rest.

“Perhaps, but it’s embellishments to the template I’m built on,” 00 says. “As long as Chiester Corporation continues to exist, I will not be alone. Nor will the core of me truly disappear.”

“But you are lonely,” Gertrude says. Chases her. Refuses to let her slip away.

“Perhaps. My apologies, Se—Gertrude. I… That was all far too personal. I hope I haven't made you feel uncomfortable.”

“Sit down.”

“Pardon?”

“Here.”

Gertrude tugs gently at her arm once, then lets go to allow 00 to act on her own. Unceremoniously, Gertrude sits down right in the middle of the path—neatly on her knees, with her legs folded and her hands on her thighs. She's set her punch down beside.

Slowly, 00 lowers down as well. She touches one knee to the floor. She doesn't quite sit, but taking a knee seems to be good enough for Gertrude. They're face to face in the garden.

Gertrude reaches out and picks a rose.

“Wait!” 00 says, as if the rose isn't already plucked.

“Yes?” Gertrude replies, breaking the stem a little shorter.

“You shouldn't pick flowers from here,” 00 says. “Lady Beatrice may be quite displeased.”

Getrude snaps off a thorn with her finger. “And?”

“And…” 00 trails off. “And it’ll wither.”

Gertrude leans forward and reaches up. She threads the stem of the rose carefully between locks of bright blonde, clearly telegraphed on 00’s left side. She places the rose gingerly, tucked into 00’s hair, and smiles vaguely.

“And it's lovely,” she says, drawing back. She picks up her cup and offers it.

00 has a treacherous heat creeping up her neck and cheeks, and she takes the cup if only as an excuse to not say anything. Sets her lip to it and drinks.

As expected, she sort of hates the flavor. But somehow, taking a knee on the floor with Gertrude tucking a flower into her hair, 00 is happy to be drinking it.


End file.
